The Happiest of Men
by Redone
Summary: A very short vignette. I got tired of all that angst out there, and thought that it must be rewarded. So this is a tiny piece of happiness.


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**The Happiest of Men**

by Red 

Applewood fire crackles merrily in the fireplace, and candlelight paints the small room high on top of one of Hogwarts' towers in alternating gold and shadows. Sitting behind his desk, the aged headmaster adjusts the spectacles on his nose. The newest issue of _Ars Alchemica _lies before him, opened at the article about an interesting variation of the seventh use of dragon blood, achieved through its exposure to gamma rays. Written by the latest Potions Master of the wizarding Britain, none the less. With an appreciative mumble he puts the volume away, rises and walks to the window. 

For a while he ponders the falling snow outside and the light streaming from the windows of the Great Hall. The school is celebrating Christmas. One hundred and thirty seventh since he first saw the old castle as a first-year; one hundred and twenty first since he started teaching here; ninety eighth since he's served as the headmaster. He feels old. 

Near the window stands an ancient mirror, half covered with a curtain. The glass surface looks grey with age, and the gilt frame glints softly, _...cafru oyt on wohsi. _The headmaster pauses to look at his own reflection. The mirror shows a figure still tall and straight, despite his age; still forbidding, if he cares to be, although years may have mellowed his expression a bit. Or maybe it is the beard that he grew when he became grandfather. The beard is now all white, as is his long hair, a striking contrast against his rich black-on-black embroidered wizard's robes. All in all, a figure that commands respect. 

And that is what the headmaster is. The mirror of Erised has not worked its magic for a long time now. 

A slight movement at the door, and he turns, seeing a cat sitting there. The sleek rusty-coloured animal walks in with a dignified swish of her tail and in the next moment there stands a woman. She looks strict in her spectacles and a tight bun of grey hair, until a smile lightens up her face. "Really now, headmaster," she murmurs, "growing vain in your old age?" 

"I should have known that my favourite Transfiguration professor could not leave me untended for even a couple of hours at this Christmas evening," he says with a twinkle in his eye. 

She shakes her head and sighs. "I just had to have some peace." 

"That bad? Do tell me." The headmaster snaps his fingers, sending a house elf for some tea and rolls. Both professors sit down comfortably, letting the fire warm their aged joints. 

"Those Weasley boys are going to be the death of me," she says when she accepts a cup from the headmaster. "Transfiguring all the food on their table! And Professor Malfoy Jr just stands there and laughs! I _swear_ his father wasn't as bad as that." 

An arched eyebrow and a mischievous glint in the headmaster's eyes let her know what he thinks of this. "I hope at least you gave Messrs Weasley and Weasley good marks for their Transfiguration skills?" 

"I did. That, and a week of detention once the term starts." 

He nods. The Transfiguration professor never leaves mischief unpunished, even as she never leaves students' achievements unrecognised. The headmaster digs in one of the desk drawers, pulls out a box and offers it up to her. "No sherbet lemons here, but care for a mint?" 

She accepts with a snort. "You still are awfully Dumbledorean, you know that?" 

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" 

"You old tease." She laughs. "I guess this is something that comes with the office. Together with your Headmaster Look." 

"I'd only manage to scare the first-years, my darling, if I'd shave my head bald." He shifts his _Ars Alchemica_ toward her. "Have a look at this. There's something that might improve your mood." 

The Transfiguration professor shifts through the journal, and a fond smile appears on her lips. "Just look at that," she reads with pride and awe, "'_Severus Albus Snape, Potions Master.'_ Takes after his grandfather, he does. You should be proud." 

"I am," he admits. He touches his lips briefly to her forehead. "Proud, and happy. Very, very happy." 

She lets her palm rest against his cheek. 

The bells chime midnight, and the windows of the Great Hall darken. Hogwarts is descending into a deep Christmas sleep. 

The Headmaster rises and reaches out an old, gnarled hand which is taken gladly. "Shall we turn in for the night, Professor Granger-Snape?" 

She smirks. "Very well, Professor Snape." 

He pulls her closer, putting an arm around her waist, and together they walk out of the room.   
  



End file.
